


Clipped Wings

by fizzfooz



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Anal Sex, Cruelty, Gang Rape, Humiliation, M/M, Non-Consensual Oral Sex, Object Insertion, Prisoner of War, Rape, Rape/Non-con Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-13
Updated: 2019-07-13
Packaged: 2020-05-20 18:45:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19382587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fizzfooz/pseuds/fizzfooz
Summary: Ravus' time as a captive of the Niflheim army.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [marmolita](https://archiveofourown.org/users/marmolita/gifts).



Niflheim's propoganda machine got to work immediately, assuring the citizens of Tenebrae that although their country might mourn the loss of Queen Sylva Via Fleuret the work of the oracle would continue with Lady Lunafreya. They had the gall to call Ravus' and Luna's mother's death a tagic accident. Not a mention of General Glauca and his sword or the magitek troupers and their tongues of flame. Tenebrae was overwhelmed not with more weapons or fire but with the TVs and radios in every home. The Empire broadcast Lunafreya almost daily, had her tell the masses that those who needed it could still be healed. The cameras conveniently failed to pick up the MTs stationed in every hallway of Fenestala Manor. The Imperial soldiers putting their boots on the furniture. Luna sobbing behind her bedroom door when she thought no one would overhear.

The Imperials didn't know what to do with Ravus. They would have struck him down but one of the generals argued that his presence would make Luna more agreeable and so he was spared. The Manor's staff were not so lucky – the maid who used to bring him sylleblossom tea with honey when he was ill, the butler who carved tiny spiracorns for Luna, their mother's chief advisor who'd spat in the general's eye before he beheaded her, and dozens of others – all executed to protect their lies.

Their duties were taken over by MTs who could not be reasoned with, or bargained with, who didn't even fight back when he struck them, and could be replaced when they were destroyed.

For the most part, the human Imperial soldiers ignored Ravus. While Luna could scarcely go to the bathroom without an escort of at least five MTs, the only heavy guard Ravus encountered were those barring him from leaving the Manor's grounds. So long as he was unobtrusive, he could wander freely within the Manor's confines. The only one who appeared aware he even existed was Brigadier General Caligo Ulldor, who greeted him with a mocking “Hello Lord Ravus,” every time he clapped eyes on him.

Ravus had to bite back his retort that it was Prince Ravus, actually, every time.

As a non-entity, Ravus was able to sneak down to the parts of the gardens the Imperials had repurposed for training. He watched their sword drills and their firearms training. Watched them use MTs in lieu of training dummies and dump their sparking remains in a pile that made an eyesore of his father's memorial garden. Watched the placement of their hands on their sword hilts. How they drove them forward. Which ways were most effective to slice into the MTs' armour.

They didn't pay him much mind even when he took a sword from the rack and started to practise with it. They laughed when the weight of it overbalanced him. When he stumbled from clumsy strikes. Laughed even when he learned to right himself and balance every time, like he was a pet dog who'd learned to open door handles. And they kept on laughing at him, right up until he ran five of them through.

Only the MTs stopped him from killing more. They drove him to his knees with their inhuman strength, fingers gripping his shoulders tight. One of the Imperial grunts raised his sword.

“Halt!”

The grunts fell to their knees, row after row of them, as soulless as the MTs holding Ravus in place. General Glauca strode through them. Ravus struggled but all he achieved was to make his shoulders ache, the MTs' fingers grinding his bones together. The sword they'd knocked from his hands was mere inches away. The man who'd murdered his mother right in front of him. And Ravus could not budge.

“Sir!” the grunt who'd meant to kill Ravus said. “He killed five of my men!”

Glauca took his head from his shoulders without looking in his direction and flicked the blood from his blade. “Six. I've no use for soldiers who can't defend themselves from an untrained child.”

“I am not a child.” Ravus was nearly seventeen and he didn't care if he dislocated both shoulders, not if it gave him let him have a chance at Glauca.

The mask concealed Glauca's reaction, if a man like Glauca could be said to feel anything at all. He sheathed his sword. He took Ravus' jaw in one armoured hand and tilted his face up. Not even his eyes were visible in that mask but Ravus had the impression he was being inspected. Ravus snarled at him, his boots digging into the grass beneath him as he tried to surge up against the MTs' hold.

“This one needs to learn some discipline,” Glauca said. “Shut him in his room for a few days, and don't let him lay his hands on a weapon again.” He dropped Ravus, still straining against the MTs, and hauled one of the bowing Imperials to his feet. “Congratulations on your promotion. I hope you can keep a better eye on the boy than your predecessor.”

###

It was Imperial soldiers who attended to him while he was confined to his room. They delighted in pettiness, like kicking his food onto the floor or taking his mattress and bedding away. Pathetic. If they truly resented what he'd done, an empty stomach and an uncomfortable night's sleep were hardly appropriate reparations for murder.

Regardless, when Caligo himself entered his room and handed him a tray that wasn't immediately knocked out of his hands Ravus wolfed down every last crumb. When he looked up from the meal – his stomach was still growling but he wouldn't lower himself to lick the plate clean – Caligo was giving him an odd smile.

“It's true then,” he said. “The Chancellor suspected you might be being mistreated.”

“What does it matter to him?”

“Oh, I suspect it doesn't matter at all to him. But a growing boy needs his supper.”

Ravus rolled his eyes rather than protest again that he was not a boy. Only to jolt when Caligo curled a lock of his hair around his fingers. Ravus' hair had grown longer since the death of his mother, now sitting just below his jaw. The soldiers wouldn't let him near anything sharper than a spoon, so he hadn't been able to cut it. “Such an unusual colour,” Caligo said, twining it around and around his forefinger. “Those eyes too.”

Ravus should have hit him with the tray but instead he froze. The way he froze in front of Luna's room, reaching for the handle whenever he heard her crying.

“Have any of the soldiers touched you?” Caligo turned his attentions from Ravus' hair to his shoulders, groping along them. They were still tender, bruised from the MTs. Ravus only just stopped himself from hissing. “Are you injured?”

“No.” The bowls and cutlery knocked against the tray on his lap as an involuntary tremor ran through him. “I'm not injured,” he repeated, as Caligo ran his hands down his arms, until his touch met Ravus' white-knuckled grip on the tray. Caligo ignored him and skimmed his hands down Ravus' thighs.

“You are a pretty little thing.”

“What?” What was this? He looked around the room, at everything but Caligo, searching for something he could use. But the soldiers had neglected to leave even a nail file behind.

“So innocent too. Tell me, is it true that those of the Oracle bloodline must remain pure?”

“I don't--”

“Come now, surely you're not that naïve. Are you a virgin, boy?”

“That-- That is none of your business.” His scarlet face was probably answer enough but he'd be damned if he'd reward such intrusiveness. He leapt back onto the bed as Caligo reached for him again, the tray clattering to the floor. Ravus rolled over the bed and onto the other side, putting its entire frame between himself and Caligo. He crouched behind it, ready to shove the entire thing at him if he made another move.

Caligo only chuckled. He picked up the spilled tray and left the room. After the last of his footsteps had faded down the corridor, Ravus retreated to his en-suite bathroom which locked from the inside.

###

The grunts returned for the next few days and Ravus was glad, even if it meant he got nothing to eat.

###

It was Glauca who released him from his room and after that, MTs followed him wherever he went. Just like Luna. The five that surrounded him also seemed to be programmed to take care of him. Every breakfast, lunch, and dinner, they marched him down to one of the rooms adjacent to the kitchen. One of them prepared a meal for him while the rest stood guard. If he tried to leave without eating, they'd sit him back down. If he dropped his utensils, they'd pick up another set to replace them. If he sat long enough without eating anything, one of them would bring a fork to his mouth.

Every morning they ushered him into his bathroom and presented him with fresh towels and fresh clothing. Stood purposefully while he finished his ablutions. If he tried to stay up late, they turned the lights off on him. If he tried to lie-in, they dragged him out of bed and stood him upright.

Around mid-afternoon every day they took him outside and started to jog. The first time it had taken a couple of false starts for him to realise that they meant him to join them. He soon learned to keep up because if he flagged, they'd tow him along after them. After the run they performed a series of body weight exercises, repeating them until he did those too. One of them handed him water every time he sweated.

The bizarre routine had him aching but well-rested and well-fed, physically healthy even if they allowed him no entertainment and never, ever let him cross paths with Luna. Or within reach of the Imperial's weapons.

He had already been athletic but after only a few weeks he began to see more obvious muscle tone in his legs and arms. He was more able to keep up with the MTs. He couldn't begin to fathom what the Empire meant to achieve with this, but if they wanted him to be stronger, he wouldn't resist it. All the better to overthrow them when the time came.

###

“Lord Ravus.”

Ravus turned on his heel, intending to go back the way he'd came but he collided with the MTs escorting him. They continued moving forward, taking him with them. As far as they were concerned, it was time for his supper, and there'd be no deviation from that plan.

“Halt,” Caligo said and the MTs stopped. The five of them stood side-by-side, blocking his retreat and any escape route from Caligo that wouldn't take Ravus right past him. “And where are you going in such a hurry?”

The MTs that guarded him had rifles. The odds of them relinquishing one was slim. But Caligo had a sword at his hip. “For my evening meal,” Ravus said. Could he draw it before Caligo noticed what he was up to? He hadn't been allowed near one since he'd killed the soldiers but he remembered the feeling well enough. Like another limb. He was sure he could stab Caligo while he was unarmed.

He'd been too obvious. Caligo placed his hand ever-so-casually on his sword hilt. “Join me. I'll have something much more palatable prepared than those machines can make.”

“No. No, thank you.”

“Boy, you're cleverer than that. I'm not _asking_ you.”

###

Fenestala Manor's dining hall was rarely used when Ravus' mother was alive. She preferred the cosiness of the blue drawing room where she, Luna, and Ravus could sit without needing a megaphone each to talk to each other. Now, the hall was overflowing with Imperial soldiers, all loud noises and jostling elbows as they ate. Two MTs marched Ravus to a separate, smaller table and lowered him into the seat opposite Caligo.

“What a view,” Caligo said, as the MTs stopped Ravus from standing straight back up. “Though perhaps I should have had them dress you up for dinner.”

Ravus did look rather shabby compared to Caligo in his full uniform. The MTs had dressed him practically: a white tank top and sweatpants. “I'm not here to please you.”

“Such a spiky little thing you are.” He snapped his fingers and their meals were delivered by a human Imperial officer. Ravus didn't recognise him, but their faces tended to blend into one.

The meals Ravus had been given for the past few weeks were nutritious but bland. The smell of breaded fish in a rich, creamy sauce, and sautéed potatoes made his mouth water despite himself. The soldier stared at him with naked envy, and added a bottle of wine to the table. Caligo dismissed him with a gesture not dissimilar to the hand signals he gave the MTs.

Ravus only stared at the rich, inviting food, concentrating the rest of his senses on Caligo's every movement. Caligo made obnoxious, appreciative noises as he ate. Gulped the wine. When Ravus didn't join him, the MTs reverted to their programming. One of them cut up the fish while the other tapped at his face until he began eating just so the gods-damned things didn't force-feed him in front of Caligo.

“Not thirsty?” Caligo asked, indicating the wine.

He wasn't old enough to drink and never had before. “I won't let you get me drunk.”

“On one glass of wine? Are you really that much of a lightweight?”

Caligo gestured to the MT to Ravus' left and it tipped the wine glass up and up, until Ravus was forced to either take it or have wine spilled down his front. It tasted horrible and he had no idea why people seemed to enjoy it so. His mother had loved-- Well, there was no use thinking about that.

“Five armed soldiers, hm?” Caligo said, quite ruining Ravus' attempt to pretend anything but the food existed. “Rather impressive.”

“They were your own men.”

Caligo only shrugged, holding his wine glass aloft. “Sooner or later, all of those less proficient will be replaced by magitek.”

Hmph. What did it matter anyway if the Niflheim dogs turned on each other? The sooner the better. Maybe then they'd get out of his home and leave him and Luna in peace. “What do you want from me?”

“For you to finish your supper.”

The MT poked his cheek with his fork. Ravus snatched it and made himself finish the rest. The rich food sat heavily in his stomach, and the wine made him warm and languid. He stifled a yawn. It must be past the bed time the MTs imposed in him, and apparently his body had fallen in line with them.

“Would you care for dessert?” Caligo asked.

“I'm tired.”

Caligo set his wine glass down, only half-drunk. “Then allow me to accompany you to your chambers.”

“I don't want your company.”

Another gesture and the MTs yanked Ravus to his feet. He could dig his heels in and be dragged but he kept pace with them, his back straight and his head held high. They stopped abruptly in one of the corridors and Ravus stumbled as he was released. 

The grip of the magitek was immediately replaced by Caligo's sword-roughened hands, pulling him towards him by the biceps. Ravus tried to tear himself away but Caligo proved much stronger. Broader than him, swallowing up his whole body every time he managed to pull him flush. “My men are always complaining of your attitude.”

“Don't they have better things to do than gossip?”

“Are you unaware of your position here, or just that arrogant?”

Arrogant? This was his home. This place was meant for Lunafreya's reign after his mother had lived a long, peaceful life. If his mother truly had died in an accident, he'd be regent until Luna came of age herself. How was one supposed to act around those who'd burned their kingdom and murdered their family? Politely? What was arrogant was to spread across the whole of Eos, as hungry and destructive as the starscourge itself, laying claim to whatever and whomever took their fancy.

“Unhand me.”

In a way, Caligo did. He flung Ravus forward so that he had to catch himself against the opposite wall. Caligo pressed up behind him. Eclipsing him. Ravus tried to buck him off as one of his hands curled around his hip.

“Are you going to cooperate? Or should I visit your dear, sweet little sister?”

The mere thought of Caligo brazenly touching her as he'd touched him opened up a chasm of dread inside him. Luna was not so helpless as the soldiers believed her to be, but she was no more capable of fending off Caligo's bizarre overtures as he was. “I'll-” His mouth was bone dry, the food now leaden in his stomach. “I'll cooperate.”

“Wise choice. You'll address me as sir.”

Ravus leaned his forehead against the wall. “Yes, sir.” It came out choked but it was a miracle it came out at all with his heart trying to force its way into his throat.

It had been obvious what Caligo's intentions were that first time in his room, yet somehow it was still a shock when his hands crept down under the waistband of Ravus' sweatpants. And did not stop. He fondled Ravus through his underwear. No one had ever touched him there. Rarely even himself. It had seemed to him that puberty was one long excuse for his body to embarrass him, and he didn't want to indulge its nonsense.

“You've more than a handful there,” Caligo said, stroking up and down his shaft. Must he talk through this? “Lovely all over, aren't you?”

Mortifyingly, Ravus hardened, although there was certainly nothing he found appealing about this. He grit his teeth and tried to separate the core of himself from the base, insidious nonsense of his body. The animal part of himself that could react for someone like Caligo. He certainly couldn't ignore Caligo and his hot breath on the back of his neck, or the gluttonous noises he made.

“Relax. You might even enjoy it.”

What exactly was he supposed to enjoy? But he hadn't forgotten the threat to Luna, so he curled further into the wall and said: “Yes, sir.”

Caligo delved into his underwear. Ravus couldn't help but squirm at the first touch of flesh on flesh. When Caligo grasped his cock, he couldn't stop himself from jerking back. The only thing to jerk back into, however, was Caligo himself. Feeling the shape of his hard cock pressed against his rear sent Ravus right back into the wall. He didn't know how to react when Caligo stroked him. He settled for staying very, very still. Stifling the noises Caligo drew out of him. Trying to will away the unbidden heat pooling low in his belly.

Absurdly, he found himself looking at the MTs. Wishing they would do something. Stop this. Rip Caligo's arms off with their superhuman strength. He locked eyes with one of them. Its eyes stared back, blank and glowing. It tilted its head. Twitched. One arm came up and for a moment he thought-- But it went still again. Ridiculous. For all they might act like his babysitters, they were only machines.

It shouldn't have been possible to orgasm without feeling the tiniest scrap of pleasure but that was what happened. A shameful few fast strokes and Ravus came, soiling his underwear with it, Caligo rubbing his own cock against his buttocks.

“There,” Caligo said. He wiped his hand clean on the leg of Ravus' sweatpants. “That wasn't so bad, was it?”

“No, sir.”

But Ravus felt as hollow as an MT as Caligo righted his clothing. He leaned against the wall, unsure if he could stand under his own power.

“Off you go then. Get your beauty sleep.”

###

Somehow, Ravus did get back to his quarters, into a shower, and changed into his pyjamas though he remembered none of it. He lay on the bare slats of his bed – the soldiers had never returned his mattress – and stared up at the ceiling. The plaster relief was a series of interwoven sylleblossoms in concentric circles. Since the execution of the cleaning staff, a spider was making its home in one of the corners. For as long as he stayed on the bed, the MTs assumed he was sleeping whether his eyes were open or not.

It could have been much worse. Caligo had not even hurt him. Considering how the Empire treated its own men, he'd gotten off lightly.

He'd protected Luna. What's more, he'd protected her in a way he couldn't have with a sword.

He should be proud.

###

The MTs trained him. The MTs fed him. The MTs turned out the lights when they wanted him to sleep. The MTs opened the curtains when they wanted him to wake. He saw Luna in passing, once, as her own MT escort held her to whatever routine they had deemed best for her. So briefly they didn't get to so much as greet each other.

One evening, the MTs led him not to his own chambers but down the corridor to his mother's. It was exactly as he remembered it from the day she died, covers still disturbed from the last time she'd slept. The midnight blue quilt and silver sheets. A tumbler half full of water now stale and her reading glasses on the nightstand. Dead and shrivelled sylleblossom crowns that Luna had woven for her on her dresser. On the floor underneath it, the indiscrete boots of the large Galahdian woman that sometimes accompanied her though she insisted they were only close friends.

The only thing out of place was General Glauca. The MTs seized Ravus before he could take a single step towards him.

“What did Ulldor do to you?” Glauca said, distorted voice echoing around his helmet. 

Ulldor and his hands weren't something he was going to discuss with anyone, let alone his mother's murderer. “Get out of this room.”

Glauca picked up the tumbler from the dresser and turned it in his gauntleted fingers. There was a smudge of lipstick on one side. He tossed it onto the floor, where it shattered. “What did Ulldor do to you?”

When Ravus hesitated, Glauca reached for his mother's reading glasses. “He-- Touched me.”

“Where did he touch you?”

Perhaps Glauca was no more than an advanced model of MT. That would explain why no one ever saw his face. Ravus blushed, which was an absurd reaction. He wasn't the one who ought to be ashamed of himself. “My... my front.”

“Your front? Do you mean your cock?”

Ravus had to swallow a couple of times before he could answer. In the space of those few seconds, Ravus had put the reading glasses on the floor and crushed them under his toe. “Yes,” he bit out. “Caligo touched my cock.”

“What about your ass? Has anyone touched that? Has anyone put their fingers in there? Their cocks?”

“No.” He felt fevered, dizzy and sick. Shaking with rage at the specks of glass and warped bits of metal ground into the plush, pale blue rug at the foot of his mother's bed. “No one.”

“Undress, prince.”

“And if I don't? You'll keep breaking trinkets until I comply?”

“If you don't, the machines will do it for you, and they won't care if they dislocate your shoulders getting your arms out of your sleeves. Or if they tear everything so badly I have to toss you out into the halls naked.”

Again, Ravus was only wearing workout gear. Not the clothes he'd been wearing when Caligo accosted him, but a white T-shirt and a pair of pale grey cropped sweatpants. He should appreciate the MTs' practicality, he supposed. Less to remove than the way he'd dressed when he'd had a choice.

He started by kneeling down and unlacing his shoes, taking every lace out of its loop. Glauca only stood, silent, the mask inclined towards him. No matter how long he lingered over the shoes, eventually he ran out of lace, the tongues flapping out.

He could only draw out taking his socks off for thirty seconds. Exactly thirty seconds. He was counting in his head. No matter how obvious his ploys to avoid this were – shifting between the hem of his T-shirt and the waistband of his trousers as if he couldn't decide which to take off first, 'accidentally' knotting the drawstring of his sweatpants and having to untangle it – Glauca did no more than stand, still and imposing as a statue of the Draconian.

Did he... enjoy this? Were Ravus' attempts to rile him having the opposite effect? The mask offered no more clue than the pale carpet beneath his bare feet.

After a few more tugs at his T-shirt, Ravus simply stopped. The MTs inched towards him and Ravus hurriedly pulled his T-shirt over his head. It was harder to take off the trousers, and not just because of the triple knot. When he stood in only his underwear, he looked to Glauca for instruction.

“Do you need your hand held through every step of this?”

Yes, how pampered he was to expect some guidance on the correct way to strip in front of his mother's murderer. How absurdly coddled. He didn't say any of that, though, just took off his underwear. He held it in front of his crotch, flushing despite himself.

Glauca stepped towards him. He sounded no more human when he moved. There must have been hydraulics or some such in the armour because pressure released whenever his joints moved. “Give me those.”

It should have been his opportunity to strike but all there was in front of him was impenetrable armour. He tugged Ravus' underwear from his hand. His helmet flicked, gaze raking down Ravus' body.

“Get on the bed.”

Ravus couldn't. His knees locked. He couldn't get into his mother's bed. Not like this. Glauca picked him up like he weighed nothing at all and threw him. He fell face-first onto sheets that still smelled of his mother's perfume. He tried to clamber up but Glauca gripped the back of his skull, enclosing it in huge metal gauntlets.

“Stay.”

The order was needless. As soon as Glauca's grip receded, the MTs took his place. One shoved his head down. One of the others positioned two pillows under his pelvis to raise him up. Two others took an ankle each and spread him so obscenely wide he could feel the lick of air against his cleft. His breath shuddered out of him, his body quaking as _his mother's room, his mother's bed_ revolved around and around in his head like a sick carousel.

But Glauca didn't touch him. He left the room, in fact. The sound of his hydraulics and clanking heavy armour was obvious fading down the hall.

His absence didn't help to settle Ravus. It only made his breathing more ragged. Why leave him here? In this position? The grandfather clock in the hall tick-ticked the minutes away until the noise was again swallowed by Glauca's loud armour and another set of footsteps.

“He says Ulldor hasn't fucked him,” Glauca said. “But you'd better make sure.”

The other man's voice sounded like it had escaped from a crypt. “Really, general, need we be so thorough? It's almost impossible to tell with boys.”

“He's the Oracle's brother, Chief Besithia. An interesting specimen, surely, if nothing else.”

“Hmph. The Oracle's gifts only appear in females but never mind. There may be something to glean from him if he's a carrier.” Besithia seemed to be having as difficult a time breathing as Ravus was, too old or too unfit for such exertion. The bed dipped under his weight. “Even you must know that no one can tell just by looking, General Glauca, whatever stories the soldiers might conjure up about slackness. Although the boy certainly looks very tight, the elasticity of the area varies by individual.”

The _area_? Were they talking about his--? He jolted as Besithia touched the pad of his finger to the area under discussion, and made a strangled noise into the sheets.

“He doesn't act like he's experienced.” The finger circled his-- his _anus_ with an odd, squeaky texture like Besithia was wearing rubber gloves. “What is it you expect me to do here? Even you must be aware that males don't have hymens, and even those can be broken well before the first time.”

“Give your expert opinion as a lifelong student of human biology. Can't be too careful when Ulldor's around.”

“Not a student, a master. But I suppose not.” The finger vanished. There was an odd _glub glub_ noise and when it returned, it was wet.

Ravus couldn't hold back the scream as it slipped inside him, and pressed up into his inner walls. It felt too dry despite the wetness and much longer than a finger should, his body closing around the breach. It struck something inside him that made him jolt and his cock thicken to full hardness. The finger rubbed against that same spot and his cock _throbbed_ with the want of release, his thighs trembling. Almost as soon as the invasion had begun, it was over, the finger wriggling free as Ravus' body redoubled its efforts to clamp down around it.

“My expert opinion is that if this boy isn't a virgin, no one would be able to guess otherwise. But I suspect you knew that already.”

“Would he make a good gift for the chancellor? Or the emperor?”

“The chancellor's practically a eunuch. Our beloved emperor on the other hand... Well, you've hardly left him in the best position to be appraised. All I can say from this angle is that he looks healthy enough.”

The MTs pushed Ravus' legs together and rolled him onto his back. He hoped that his eyes weren't obviously red, and that they thought his face was flushed with only rage. His cock, however, was still hard. He had no way to hide it. The MTs clamped his ankles and wrists together, holding him stretched out on the bed. Besithia was just as old as he'd expected, surveying him dispassionately.

“Very handsome,” he said. “Heterochromatic eyes too, which gives him rarity value if nothing else.”

“Good enough for the emperor?”

“A fine prize. Though no one would begrudge you keeping this one for yourself, I'm sure.”

_No._ Ravus writhed against the MT's hold. Glauca creaked and clanged closer and took Ravus' jaw in his hand. He inspected his face from every angle, just as Caligo had. “A fairytale handsome prince, hm?”

“Oh?” Besithia said. “Are you actually interested?”

What was wrong with the Imperials? Besithia sounded amused at the prospect. Glauca moved his fingers over Ravus' jaw, grinding his teeth against the skin, gripping so hard he couldn't speak for fear of losing a molar. He let go just as suddenly, leaving Ravus' face aching in his wake. Besithia petted Ravus' chest and stomach, raising gooseflesh and making his muscles jump underneath the touch. “Perhaps once you've decided one way or another, I can try him with the tank specimens. Get a sample from him.”

Glauca had stilled again. He didn't respond to any of Besithia's musings. Just gave a hand signal that made the MTs release Ravus.

Ravus dove for his clothes, pulling them back on so quickly his T-shirt was inside-out. He whirled around, ready to defend himself, but the only thing that manhandled him was one of the MTs.

They took him back to his room. Ravus repeated the hand gestures he'd seen Caligo and Glauca use, but the MTs didn't respond to them.

###

Another few days passed with only the MTs for company until Caligo paid him another visit. He lingered in Ravus' periphery, watching as the MTs put him through another exercise routine, then snatched him to take lunch with him. This time in the blue drawing room. There was a tiered display of tiny sandwiches and cakes on the table. The sort of thing Luna used to have when she played with her dolls – though the play had actually been a drama full of raw political intrigue, with many dolls exiled to the loveseat in the corner.

He only had to puzzle over it for a moment before Luna herself entered, flanked by her own guards. She was taller than the last time Ravus had seen her. Of course. She was nearly thirteen now. Ravus looked to Caligo for instruction, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“Don't let me interrupt,” Caligo said.

Still, Ravus didn't dare go to her. Instead, she came to him. She clung to his midriff. He squeezed his eyes shut, and patted her in as cursory a manner as possible. “Ravus,” she said, holding on tighter. “Are you well?”

“As well as can be.” His voice was convincingly steady, despite Caligo's presence. “And you?” He peeled her off him to inspect her at arm's length. She had no bruises, not a hair out of place, nor a crease on her dress.

“I'm treated well,” she said “The soldiers ensure I want for nothing. Except company perhaps.”

Good. She didn't want the sort of company the Empire provided. 

They sat at the small table. Luna filled her plate with tiny sandwiches. Someone had dug out her favourite tea set, the one made of paper thin porcelain with vivid blue sylleblossoms painted over its surface, and she poured a cup for both of them. Ravus could only stare at her. After so long of only the MTs and the Empire's soldiers, she seemed unreal. A light too bright to look at that he blinded himself with anyway.

“Aren't you hungry, Ravus?”

He ate as if the MTs had prodded him to, plucking sandwiches directly from the stand. The MTs didn't care about table manners so he had gotten out of the habit of eating how decorum dictated. Luna pushed the tea cup towards him, her eyes searching.

_Please. Let her see only grief for what we've both lost._

They could hardly speak freely with Caligo stationed at the door, watching their every move. But even if they could, she must never know what the Empire did to him. What more they wanted to take from him. Would Gentiana protect her? She hadn't protected their mother, and she was capricious at the best of times.

They ate in silence. Even the smallest cake lay heavily in Ravus' stomach, sickly sweet. He wasn't hungry. Hadn't felt truly hungry since Besithia's finger breached him. But he saw the sense in keeping his strength up, and he didn't want to worry Luna more than she doubtlessly already would. At least Luna's appetite seemed healthy enough, helping herself to three of her favourite tarts in a row.

“Be well, Ravus,” she said, when the MTs gestured for her to stand.

_Be safe, Luna._ He couldn't bring himself to wish her farewell as they escorted her out. He hung his head, staring at her discarded dishes. There was a click as Caligo locked the door behind them.

“What a touching family reunion,” he said, treading dirt into the white carpet with his boots. “Was it nice to see your sister again?”

Ah. So this was Caligo wanted. To remind him of what was at stake. “Yes, sir.”

“Thank me for letting you see her.”

“Thank you for letting me see Lunafreya, sir.”

“You can do better than that. Show me how grateful you are.”

Ravus dragged his gaze from the table to Caligo. Who was grinning. “I am... very grateful, sir.” How else could he convey gratitude? Why must Caligo play these games? “Truly.”

“Show me. Or should I ask your sister for a demonstration?”

What did he want? Ravus' mind raced. A demonstration of gratitude? Ah. Like the knights of old, swearing fealty to the queens before his mother and Luna. He prostrated himself before Caligo, his brow touching the carpet. “Thank you, sir.”

“An improvement.” Caligo nudged his toe against Ravus' forehead until his face was flush with the metal of his boots. The knights in the old stories had done this too for their ancient queens. He kissed Caligo's boots until the metal warmed to the temperature of his lips. “You're a quick study. Back on your knees.”

Oh. What a fool Ravus was for expecting anything different. Caligo had already exposed his cock. He practically jabbed it in Ravus' face. Ravus swallowed so that he didn't retch as the smell of sweat, salt, and intimate musk hit the back of his nose. The urge to recoil clawed at him but he held fast. Caligo gripped the base of his cock in his hand, squeezing it to full hardness.

“Have you ever seen a cock before?”

Of course he hadn't, other than his own. “No, sir.”

“A cunt?”

Ravus blanched at the vulgar phrasing. “No.”

“Oh, not even on a screen? In a magazine?”

“Never.” He wouldn't have consumed such tawdry things anywhere, let alone his family home. Under the same roof as his mother and sister. Where either they or any of the staff might discover them in his possession

“How sweet.” Caligo fondled Ravus' face, swiping his thumb along his cheekbone. It was wet with the fluid that glistened on the head of his cock. “Open your mouth and look at me. Let's see those pretty eyes.”

Mere months ago he'd believed someone discovering him with pornography was the most mortifying thing that could happen to him. Now... He let his mouth fall open and lifted his gaze to Caligo's leering face. Ravus' hands automatically balled into fists where they rested on his thighs.

The first press of that revolting flesh to his tongue made him gag, reflexively jerking back. But Caligo grabbed the back of his head, pushing him forward. More of that clear fluid filled Ravus' mouth, viscous and awful. And that was only the tip, Caligo's hand still wrapped around most of it.

“How do you like your first taste of cock?”

Why ask when the answer was so obviously not at all? Ravus' stomach churned and drool leaked from the corners of his mouth as he fought against the swallowing reflex.

“That won't do. Make a seal with your lips and suck.”

He didn't know how he complied but comply he did. Caligo moaned and thrust deeper, hitting the back of his throat. Ravus coughed and spluttered, struggling weakly against the grip on the back of his head. Caligo thrust again and again, ramming against his throat until he was choking, tears of exertion splashing down his cheeks. When his next thrust breached Ravus' throat, all reason left him. He braced himself against Caligo's thighs, trying to push himself off, sure he was dying. Spots floated in front of his vision. His heart slammed against his ribcage.

Caligo only plunged forward, somehow lodging his cock deeper down Ravus' throat. It spasmed around him, painfully trying to reject the intrusion. Ravus tried to gasp, his nostrils sucking in air that didn't seem to reach his lungs. Then fluid burst into his airways.

When Caligo pulled back, Ravus fell onto his hands. He coughed and coughed, bringing up Caligo's spend. Its bitter taste coated the inside of his mouth. It streaked down his chin, stained the neck of his clothing, pooled on the floor, but that was all better than having it inside him.

“Look at the mess you've made.” Caligo shoved Ravus' face into the pool of spend and ground it down until his eyelashes, his cheeks, his chin, were covered in it too. Then yanked him back up by the hair.

“Filthy,” he said, leaning down until his face was mere inches from Ravus'. “But what an adorable expression. Will you cry?”

Ravus clenched his eyes shut and shook his head. His throat and chest ached, faint coughs still wracking him. A hollow victory it may be, but he wasn't going to cry. Not if that was what Caligo wanted.

Caligo chuckled. He released Ravus, but his hold was soon replaced by the MTs hauling him to his feet. “Take him to the training grounds,” he said. “Make sure the soldiers get a good look.”

###

It took the soldiers a few moments to notice him, inured as they were to the MTs stomping around. They almost managed to sneak right past them, but the newly appointed head of the soldiers was in the garden and he halted them in their tracks. Caligo's mess had congealed on Ravus' face and he could feel the tightness where it dried on his skin. The way he had to blink it out of his eyelashes so he could see. The MTs hadn't so much as allowed him to raise a hand to wipe it away.

The soldier grinned and grabbed Ravus' jaw, turning his face this way and that as the Imperials so loved to do. He shoved his thumb into Ravus' mouth and laughed when he jerked back. The soldier made another of those hand signals that the MTs ignored when Ravus replicated them, and Ravus was shoved onto his knees.

No. No, not again. He flailed, ready to break both arms if it meant escaping. He did not stop, no matter how the pressure of the MTs' grip increased. He pivoted from them to kick out at the soldier but he stepped out of range before it could land. The scene drew a crowd of soldiers. All laughing as he thrashed, an animal in a bear trap ready to gnaw off his own arms to escape.

All for naught. Another MT was directed behind him to hold his legs. He could still thrash but only as much as a dying fish, back arching against the hold.

“Bite down and I'll yank your teeth out,” the first soldier said. “And make your sister watch.”

The temptation was still almost too great to bear but Luna had looked well-rested and healthy. Let her only deal with boredom as long he could make it so. At least they didn't make him talk like Caligo did, although they were just as rough.

Some held his face flush against their pelvises, throat so distended with their cocks that he feared he'd never talk again, forcing him to swallow and swallow and choke until their filth bubbled into his nostrils. Some dipped shallowly, making him lick and suck until his mouth was flooded with their come. Some didn't use his mouth at all, only their hands, and made more of a mess of his face. One tore his T-shirt open and came on his chest. Some slapped his face with their palms or their cocks. They almost all tugged and pulled and tore at his hair until his entire scalp was burning.

Dozens of them. So many that his body gave in to exhaustion long before it was over, his body handing limply from the MT's hold.

Another man's crotch swam into view and he let his mouth hang open. If he didn't do it of his own volition, they only pinched his nose shut or dug their metal gauntlets into the hinges of his jaw until he did it anyway.

“No!” The soldier flinched. “That's-- That's okay.” He sounded barely older than Ravus. “The sergeant just wants me to escort you back.”

Ravus laughed bitterly, though it was barely a sound at all with his throat cracked and inflamed and used. Being talked to like a human now, was it? His human guard made another gesture. The MTs let him stand though he leaned on them heavily for support. His legs had long since went to sleep, forced to kneel for so long. The guard led them past the rest of the soldiers – laughing and relaxed, like they'd been given some well deserved R and R – and back into the Manor. Through corridors lined with MTs, and up the stairs to Ravus' chambers.

The guard seemed surprised to see the bare frames of Ravus' bed and directed the MTs to take him to the bathroom. Once the MTs had released him, Ravus waited, eyeing the guard.

“Um, go ahead,” the guard said, avoiding looking directly at Ravus. “Use whatever you need.”

Ravus dived for the sink to wash his face and chest. He swilled his mouth with tap water first, then brushed his teeth and gargled with mouth wash until the last taste of the Empire faded.

Almost faded. The guard remained, fidgeting. When Ravus was done at the sink, he offered him a canteen. Ravus drained it but the tepid water did little to soothe his raw throat. The guard took it back with a thanks, still studiously avoiding Ravus' gaze.

“I have to stay,” he said. “But I'll turn my back if you want to shower.”

This one must prefer women, he assumed. And Ravus remained a man no matter how many times the soldiers called him pretty. The guard trailed him into the bedroom while he retrieved his pyjamas, back into the bathroom with them. He wasn't sure his legs would hold out through a shower so he ran the bath.

It was one of the features that had made him choose this room once he was old enough to. A recess set into a raised platform of blue-veined marble with taps in the shape of peacocks. It had once looked like the lap of luxury but now everything in Ravus' field of vision looked alien; purple-tinged and surreal. He found himself staring at the rising water, only just remembering to turn the tap before it overflowed.

_He could drown the guard._

As soon as the thought entered his mind, he dismissed it. It was a vast effort to rid himself of one of the few Imperial soldiers who hadn't touched him. Better to just disrobe and sink into the water.

_He could drown himself._

The guard's back was turned. If he was quiet, he'd be unlikely to notice before it was too late.

_And leave Luna alone here?_

“Why are you here?” Ravus asked the guard. They had thought MTs enough to mind him before, why send a human – or Niflheim's closest approximation of one – now?

“To keep an eye on you.”

There were four MTs in the bathroom alone. “Another set?”

The guard shifted from foot to foot. “In case you hurt yourself. The MTs don't always realise that's what's happening.”

Ah. A better strategy if they didn't want him to hurt himself would be not to drive him to it but such a simple concept was apparently beyond the grasp of Niflheim's high command.

Ravus lay in the bath until the water turned tepid. The guard resolutely kept his back turned but Ravus hurried through drying and dressing himself anyway. He'd be a fool to trust him more than the others because of some pretence at kindness.

When he was ready, the guard had two of the MTs retrieve a mattress and bedding from elsewhere. They didn't quite fit the frame but it was certainly more comfortable, even if sleep still eluded him.

###

The human guard disappeared after a few days. The MTs fed him. The MTs exercised him. The MTs bathed him. The MTs put him to bed. 


	2. Chapter 2

The clothes that the MTs presented for Ravus to wear weren't from his drawers. They bore a passing resemblance to his royal raiment but they were black. A black shirt and fitted trousers. A black waistcoat with a subtle gold design only ever seen when the light hit it. A double-breasted black jacket. A royal raiment then, but a Lucian one.

The MTs had no answers. They creaked into action as he boggled over the clothes, and he dressed before they did it for him. One of them handed him a stubby stick of kohl that looked like it had been dredged from Luna's make-up box, and loomed over him until he rimmed his eyes with it. When he was dressed and painted, they took him out to the corridor where a soldier was waiting. The one who'd seized both sides of Ravus' face and fucked his throat so hard his balls slapped against Ravus' chin.

“Lovely,” he said. “We'll have to put you in lipstick next time.” But he didn't touch Ravus.

They led him down the hall. Not to his mother's room this time, thank the gods, but one of the guest rooms. Glauca was waiting there. The bedding had been stripped and replaced with black silk with gold trims. The soldier and the MTs retreated quickly.

“Your majesty,” Glauca said, his artificial voice servicing Ravus with no clue as to what the original intonation might have been.

No MTs. No soldiers. Just Glauca and himself. “Are you going to threaten my sister as well?”

“The Oracle isn't to be harmed. If that's what Caligo told you to get you on your knees, he lied.”

Why did Glauca know about that? Had Caligo _bragged_? One of the soldiers? “And you aren't a liar?”

“I don't need to lie to get a pampered little prince to cooperate.”

As Glauca spoke, Ravus scanned the room, looking for something he might use while he had this opportunity. Which was preposterous, really. Tenebrae hardly furnished the rooms of its royal guests with swords and blunt instruments. There was not even a piece of furniture he could use that wouldn't simply splinter against Glauca's armour. And Glauca didn't appear to have a weapon on hand.

After Caligo, after the soldiers, Ravus knew what Glauca must want from him. Perhaps when he undressed Ravus could attack him?

Yes, he knew what Glauca was after. Why he'd dressed Ravus like that coward Regis, however, he couldn't begin to fathom. Lucis and Niflheim had fought for centuries but those centuries had mostly been about land disputes. The leaders of both were interchangeable as far as the borders were concerned. This spoke of something far more personal.

Glauca pointed to the bed. Since there was no threat to Luna should he refuse, Ravus stayed put. Glauca grabbed him. Ravus kicked and punched. The impact reverberated through his bones where he struck the armour but didn't seem to affect Glauca at all. Ravus' fingers scrambled over the armour, catching on the intricate designs scored into it until his nails were ragged. He couldn't find a single hinge or mechanism to release it. Glauca was as vulnerable to his bare hands as the shell of a bulette.

He tossed Ravus onto the bed with barely more than a flick. Ravus landed sprawled, face down on the black silk sheets. Lucian colours as vivid as they had been on Regis' retreating back.

Before he could so much as twitch, Glauca was on top of him, pulling at the ridiculous outfit the MTs had taken so much trouble to dress him in. He bunched Ravus' wrists in one hand above his head and tore the blazer and shirt from Ravus' back. Both garments gave an ear-splitting shriek as the fibers ripped under Glauca's superhuman strength.

“You're trembling, your majesty.”

Ravus clenched his teeth so as not to respond to the taunt. He was not trembling. He was shaking with rage. Glauca pulled the tatters of the clothing on his upper body away, baring his back and chest. He released Ravus' wrists to trace along his biceps, his sides, the tips of his gauntlets leaving angry red lines everywhere that they touched. Then Glauca ripped off the trousers too, but left his underwear intact. He ran his hands over and over Ravus' rear while Ravus pressed his face into the pillows and willed himself not to feel it.

“No fight left in you, prince? Typical.”

He'd have to remove at least a portion of the armour if he intended to do what Ravus thought he did. Then he'd show him how much fight he had left.

“Were you saving yourself for marriage like the Lucian royals?”

“I'm _not_ a Lucian.”

“One ruler's as bad as another.”

“You're a dog of the Empire.” As if such a place could be compared to Tenebrae whose rule had always, always been benevolent. Fitting of a line of healers. “As pathetic and sordid as Lucis ever was. Tenebrae would have known only peace if it wasn't for your squabbling.”

“Before the war, did all of your people live in a masion? Or just the members of your bloodline?”

Irrelevant. No one was starving. No one was dying of anything that could be prevented. His mother had returned home every evening a little more worn, a little thinner, more lines around her eyes and mouth, and headed off every morning to serve the people again.

“Were you saving yourself for marriage?” Glauca repeated.

Hardly. He was to sire children only if Luna could not bear them herself so as not to cause complications in the line of succession. As his mother had explained to him when he was thirteen and scandalised by the implications: he could do whatever he wanted with whomever he wanted, so long as he was discrete and used contraception.

Perhaps if he'd been less naïve, taken up the fumbling offers of the people closest to his age, his mind would have somewhere pleasant to wander now. A touch other than Glauca's body-warmed armour to imagine. Glauca reached underneath him and cupped his crotch. He made a distorted _tsskkkk_ noise at finding it soft. What did he expect?

“I asked you: were you saving yourself for marriage?”

No. He was saving himself for himself. Because that was what he wanted. Because Luna deserved better than a brother who was a philanderer. Because he didn't want to bring shame onto the Fleurentia name.

“Tell me. Were you destined for a political marriage? Did you sulk about it because your life of privilege didn't give you enough freedom?”

“No,” Ravus hissed as Glauca's metallic gauntlets mashed against his most tender parts. He loved his country and he had loved his duties. He loved Luna and she should have been queen.

It apparently wasn't what Glauca wanted to hear because he squeezed Ravus' balls so hard he feared the pressure might castrate him. It forced a keening whine from his lips. His vision whited out and was still spotty when it returned. He still ached though Glauca was no longer touching him.

Until he ripped off the briefs too, leaving Ravus completely naked. Ravus tensed and wished he could hide that it affected him, the way he'd stifled his whines. Something landed on the pillow beside him.

“Get yourself wet for me.”

Wet? Ravus turned his head and flinched at the sight of a large bottle of clear fluid. It was medical grade lubricant. The text on the front made that very clear. His gaze focused and unfocused as he stared at it, making it both real and unreal.

“No,” Ravus said again, as if that word meant anything here.

Another distorted _tsk_. “Yes, your majesty. We can't have you lifting a fnger.”

Glauca snatched the bottle. Ravus used that distraction to dive off the bed. He was simply wrenched back by his arm and slammed back into the mattress. Glauca hauled Ravus' hips up and spread his cheeks open with one hand, the clawed points of his gauntlets only just avoiding breaking the delicate skin there. _Gods, no._ Those gauntlets could slice him open like the segments of an orange. His breath hitched, and then he tried not to even breathe as Glauca shifted around behind him.

It wasn't the gauntlets that entered him. It was the bottle. It had a slim, pipette-shaped top and Glauca pushed all of it inside him. Not as broad or stretching as Besithia's finger had been but still too much. He tried to push it out with his inner muscles but Glauca held it fast, and squeezed. It made a repulsive squelch. Ravus jerked and wished he hadn't as Glauca's gauntlets scratched him, leaving an intimate scar. He forced himself still again. The cool liquid filled him up until he was bursting with it and it overspilled down his thighs. Spotted onto the black bedding. More slopped out when Glauca finally removed the bottle.

And as far as Ravus could tell, Glauca was still wearing his full armour. He flipped himself onto his back as soon as he was free of Glauca's gauntlet. If there was a mechanism, he wanted to see it. Then he could find it again. If not this time, then the next time he had an opportunity. Glauca flipped him back over, and there must have been something, something he couldn't see. Because the next thing he felt was the head of Glauca's cock dragging over his slick hole, mopping up the lubricant there.

Ravus thrashed in Glauca's still-gauntleted grip. “I can't,” he said. Stupid and weak and showing his underbelly, practically climbing the headboard to get away from him. “I can't.” Not this. Not this as well. Not Glauca.

Glauca dragged him back by his hips. “You can.”

Like a pair of cement boots when he was trying to swim, Glauca dragged him inexorably down. He was pulled back to the position Glauca wanted him in: his upper body dragged over the sheets, his arse raised, thrashing and clawing still but not gaining any purchase. All thoughts of harming Glauca fled him, subsumed by the urge to just get away. Get him off him. Stop this.

It made no difference.

Glauca in his armour was larger-than-life but the man underneath had to be large too. The girth that stretched Ravus open was impossible. It should not have been possible for such a small space to accommodate the loathsome thing but accommodate it did. The excessive amount of lube eased its way, huge cock filling him and filling him endlessly as Glauca pinned him in place with both hands planted on his shoulders.

“If it was up to me,” Glauca said, sliding his hands up to the sides of Ravus' neck. “I'd have ended your whole damned line like I ended your mother. Her, your sister, and yourself.” He bottomed out inside of Ravus seconds after he said it, his moans echoing inside his helmet and bouncing around the acoustics of the room.

The knowledge of Glauca inside was like he'd swallowed a live animal. Unnatural. Clawing. Terrifying. He wanted to scream and scream and never stop at the horror of his insides shaping to him. To drag himself away even if it meant tearing himself in half.

But he did neither. Glauca's had shifted his hands to Ravus' hips and was pulling him into every thrust, slamming him hard against the parts of himself that were still covered with armour. Ravus' eyes were watering – not tears, never tears – and it was viscous with the kohl the MTs had painted him in. Black was probably streaked down his cheeks like he was a harlequin clown.

Then Glauca dragged his cock almost back out of him and shoved it in at a different angle. Ravus cried out as it struck the spot inside of him that Besithia's fingers had homed in on. The one that stiffened his cock and filled him with cloying, unwanted pleasure. He writhed on Glauca's cock, trying to get away from it.

Ravus did scream then, at the evidence that any part of him could enjoy being fucked by his mother's killer.

Glauca simply seized his hips and pounded into him at that same angle. He'd barely even begun when Ravus' body betrayed him completely, his orgasm bursting from him.

How? _How?_ When this was repellent, when this was the worst moment of his life. He screamed into the mattress again, pouring all of his frustration into that one sound.

And Glauca continued to pound into his limp body. Ravus choked his noises back and tried not to sob. His body had been wilful enough for one day. He nearly broke when after what must have been hours, Glauca came inside him with a few last stuttering thrusts. And continued to thrust, pushing his seed back inside him, making loud, self-satisfied groans that half of Tenebrae must have heard.

When Glauca pulled out, Ravus collapsed onto the bed. 

“Barely satisfying,” Glauca said. “At least a corpse wouldn't have whined so much.”

Ravus leapt at him. He was swatted like a fly. He flopped back onto the bed, winded, struggling to breathe around a strike that felt like it had punched his ribcage inward. Glauca didn't even glance at him again, just opened the door and spoke to someone beyond it. “Clean this up.”

###

The same young guard – the one who hadn't tried to touch Ravus – collected him after Glauca was finished with him. Ravus had refused his help getting up from the bed but accepted the blanket he draped over his shoulders. He drew it around himself and stumbled down the hall to his bedroom, into his bathroom, into the shower to wash Glauca's filth from him. His knees threatened to buckle when he was under the spray but he braced his hands on the wall. He would never kneel willingly. Not for or because of these animals.

Only when he was dry and dressed did he leave the bathroom. The guard was at the door, looking almost as wretched as Ravus felt. Which made the anger curdled in his gut boil and seethe again. How dare _he_ be upset when it was his worthless country, his commanding officer that had done this to him.

“And when can I expect the rest of them?” Ravus snarled.

The guard blinked and Ravus wanted to slap the contrived expression of confusion off his face. “The rest?”

“The rest of your army.” As if he didn't know. “When are they going to fuck me now that Glauca's taken care of my virginity?”

The soldier flinched. “I'm sorry.”

_Sorry?_ Ravus was across the room in a flash, the guard's shoulders seized in his hands, their faces close enough for him to see the guard's pupils shrink to pin-pricks. “You're what?”

“Sorry. I am. I know it doesn't change anything and it won't stop anything--”

Ravus punched him hard enough to knock his head against the door. He ducked the next one and all of the ones after, as fast as a striking snake. He whirled around Ravus and wrenched his arm up behind him. Forced him down and down until his forehead touched the floor. His own ragged breathing echoed in his ears.

“Unhand me!”

“I'd like to but I'm not so sure you're not gonna try and hit me again.”

Ravus couldn't draw enough breath in, practically wheezing into the carpet. “Go ahead, then!”

“Go ahead? What?”

Ravus let out a bitter laugh. “Use me. Show your true colours.”

The guard recoiled. When Ravus got to his feet, he was hugging the opposite wall as if Ravus had bounced him away. “I'm not--! That's--! I'm not going to do _that_!”

“I'm not to your tastes?”

“No! I mean, you're very-- Look, I was assigned to guard you because Ulldor knows I won't try to do anything to you.” A slight twist of his mouth when he mentioned Caligo. “There wouldn't be much point in assigning me to stop you from hurting yourself if I was only going to hurt you myself, would there?”

“How very superior to your colleagues you are, since you merely stand by and allow it to happen rather than participating.”

“Stopping it – or trying to – gets you shot, or... forced to join in.”

“Being shot is the least of what you Niflheim scum deserve!” Ravus snarled, even as his stomach churned at everything that implied. Easy to see how the Niflheim army had come to be what it was. He threw himself onto his bed with his back to the guard. “Draw the curtains. I wish to sleep.”

###

The MTs fed him. The MTs dressed him. The MTs bathed him when he couldn't find the energy to do it himself. The MTs dragged him out of bed when he wouldn't get up. The MTs took him out to the gardens to train while the soldiers leered at him. The MTs hauled him to Caligo or Glauca, silent and unblinking while they had their fun with him. His guard made soothing noises at him when he returned, dodged his punches, and didn't respond to whatever he screamed at him.

###

“I'm sorry,” the guard said. Ravus was busy rinsing out his mouth after his latest visit to Caligo. “I'm sorry. I told them not here but they wouldn't listen. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm--”

“What are you bleating about?”

The guard shook his head and darted out of the bathroom. Ravus followed him.

Oh.

His room was filled with soldiers. He had expected this, he told himself. No need to shrink away from what he'd known what was coming.

There was no question of resisting. They overwhelmed with sheer numbers and had his arms and legs before he could get in even a lucky kick. He tried to tear away anyway, hips and shoulders wrenching in their sockets. The soldiers' taunts filled his ears. If he hadn't already known, they'd have made it excruciatingly clear what they intended to do with him.

They held him spread-eagled on the bed. His eyes ricocheted in his skull, alighting on every laughing, jeering face. His guard wasn't among them and he wasn't sure whether that incensed him more or less than if he'd stayed.

The commander cut his clothing from his body, the edge of his knife skimming Ravus' skin. He left Ravus bare, unable to shift even one leg over the other to hide himself with the other soldiers holding him in place. On display. He tried not to listen to their lascivious comments about his body. The commander stroked Ravus, his gluttonous hands roving over Ravus' chest, his stomach--

“Take your fill, scum,” Ravus snapped. “You'll never--” One of them shoved the scraps of his underwear into his mouth.

“Prime piece of ass when he's not talking.”

They joked among themselves about whether Glauca had left him 'tight' enough. There was a disagreement about who got to go first until the commander pulled rank. They flipped him onto his front.

He struggled. The soldiers restraining him slapped him on his thighs, his face, his back, for his trouble. One of them punched him in the side hard enough for him to curl in on himself. The commander grabbed two handfuls of his arse, fingers digging deep into the muscle, and spread him. Ravus screamed into the gag as he spat directly into his hole. The commander chuckled.

“He's plenty tight enough,” he said, as he thrust in hard enough that Ravus' stomach cramped. Each subsequent thrust was like a punch to the gut. Ravus bit down hard on the material in his mouth, his eyes streaming. If the commander hadn't used lube, he'd most likely be bleeding already.

Ravus seethed, practically frothing at the mouth like a rabid animal as the commander _oh fuck, fuck yes_ ed and came inside him. Adding another sting to his already inflamed flesh.

The second soldier alternated between kissing his neck and groaning into his ear as he fucked him. Why must they insist on talking? This one prattled on incessantly about how _pretty_ Ravus was, how tight, how he'd have loved to have been Ravus' first.

The third and fourth flipped him over again. The third pulled the cloth from his mouth and straddled his face, stuffing his cock down his throat further than even Caligo had managed. Ravus' oxygen-starved body jerked and kicked, fingers clawing at the man's thighs in a vain attempt at reprieve. The fourth grabbed his flailing legs, shoved them apart, and entered him. Though all of that was secondary to how he was suffocating. Just as his vision was dimming at the edges, the cock down his throat spurted come and choked him with that too. He swallowed. Gulping down air and come, since it was either that or asphyxiate.

When the third soldier eased back the others were laughing. Laughing because Ravus was hard. The confused signals in his dying brain had apparently decided it was the best course of action and he cringed even as he coughed and choked still. Pointless to protest that hanged corpses used to be discovered with erections, and that he was enjoying himself less than those. Pointless to do anything except take being pounded into the mattress in the bedroom he'd slept in since he was a child.

The fifth and sixth soldiers arranged him as they pleased and both shoved into his arse at once. They stretched him so wide he was sure they'd un-seam him. Howls tore from his throat as they fucked him in tandem. No matter what he called them, snarled at them, they only laughed. When they finished in him, one after the other, he felt obscenely stretched open.

He lost track of things after that. There was never a moment when he wasn't full of their cocks. Two or three at once. Swallowing their come whenever they wouldn't let him spit it out, some of them pressing their hands over his mouth until he did. Come slicking the next man or men who took his arse. He felt saturated. Filthy. They made a game of hitting that cursed spot inside him and making him come too. Once. Twice. Three times. Until his orgasms were dry. Laughing and teasing him about how he wasn't meant to be enjoying himself.

There were dozens of them. When some left the room, others joined. More soldiers than he'd ever seen. More than anyone could endure. Some had their way with him more than once. It went on long enough that they had to turn on the overhead lights, the sky through the window pitch black when he could see it. Hours. They'd fucked him for hours. Days perhaps.

When finally, they seemed to be done, Ravus lay spent. A tremor ran through him. His head pounded. Dehydration, most likely. He ached, bruised inside and out. His eyes would not stop leaking. One of the soldiers slapped his arse and he didn't have any energy left to flinch.

He kept his gaze focused on the stained sheet in front of him, trying not to see the soldiers in his periphery. They were talking among themselves but he couldn't make out the words. It was distorted, like Ravus' head was underwater.

Did they have to linger?

One of them poked him. Pulled his head up by his hair when he didn't get a response. It was the commander again. “Look at him. All fucked out. No dick will be able to satisfy him now. But I know what will.”

The commander discarded him and took one of the MT's rifles. _No._ It was supposed to be over. They'd had their fun. Repeatedly. Humiliated and fucked him in every which way they could. It was _supposed to be over_.

Ravus kicked and spat and flailed, but there was no strength left in his body. Even if there had been, the other soldiers thought it was a marvellous idea and pinned him down again.

“Let's hear you scream again, your majesty.”

And he did because he had no energy left to stop himself. Though the barrel was thinner than two cocks at once, it was hard and unyielding, and he was forced to stay stock still in case one of the metal edges tore him. They didn't gag him this time and they laughed and laughed as he was driven insensible with it. Begging _no more_ and _stop_ as they forced it further and further inside him.

But the only thing that put an end to it was being physically unable to get any more of it inside him.

Then they left. They left and left it inside him. He had been so sore already it was impossible to ignore. The fact of it there, holding him open, making his guts cramp, made him bite down on the mattress just to stop himself screaming until his throat was ragged. He didn't dare remove it himself. They'd taken it from the MTs. It had to be loaded.

So he laid there, impaled on the horrible thing. Until his guard returned to the room. Made a choked, gasping sound.

Ravus somehow managed to lift his head. “Don't say anything,” he said. “Just remove it. Please.”

###

The MTs dressed him. The soldiers undressed him. The MTs fed him. The soldiers shoved their cocks into his throat. The MTs made him exercise. The soldiers fucked him. The MTs bathed him. He was filthy, _filthy_ , forever fondled or pushed to his knees or fucked full of some degenerate soldier's come. Even his pitiful guard was silent now, told to shut his mouth one too many times.

###

When Ravus was taken for an audience with the chancellor, he expected it to be on his back. Instead, he was shoved into a high-backed chair, facing the chancellor in a matching one. Though the soldiers often made Ravus feel small and scrawny, he was over six foot tall now with the muscles to match his build. The chancellor was bigger even than him. He tipped his ridiculous hat to Ravus.

“And what strange sexual foible will I be indulging you in?” Ravus asked, shifting in his seat. So many of the soldiers had an affinity for spanking him, his rump was constantly bruised. He would be far more comfortable standing.

“My dear boy,” the chancellor said. “You sound like a jaded harlot, not the deposed king of a conquered land.”

“Prince regent. Luna is the rightful queen.” These imperials were so blinded by their colonialism that they couldn't begin to imagine Tenebrae had its own traditions.

“Imagine, a brother actually wanting his sibling on the throne. How very forward-thinking you are.”

“What do you want?”

“The rank and file seem convinced that you killed five of their compatriots when you were but a mere, untrained slip of a thing.”

He had never been a 'slip of a thing'. “I did.” And he wished he'd killed more of them, so there were less now to use him every moment of every day.

“According to them, the fight's gone out of you since then. Why, I had to cover my ears after that. The conversation became rather ribald.”

It seemed that the chancellor preferred to hear his own voice, so Ravus saw no need to respond. The things the soldiers said about him were hardly the worst of it.

“You poor thing. Betrayed by allies and enemies alike. Forced to serve those who see only a handsome face and a warm body, forgoing all of your other considerable attributes.”

“What is it that you want?” Ravus repeated.

“Serve the Empire on your feet as one of its soldiers, rather than on your knees as its whore.”

“A lapdog?” For these monsters, these animals, these vile rutting creatures with no self-control?

“Better a lapdog than a bitch, hm?”

It would stop? All of it? “If-- If I'm to consider your offer, you must guarantee Luna's safety. And that of the people of Tenebrae.”

The chancellor chuckled. “How precious. Here I am, offering you the only way out of your current predicament, and you're attempting to bargain with me. I'm pleased that Glauca and his men haven't managed to break your spirit.”

“I'm--”

The chancellor waved his hand. “Your dear, sweet sister won't be harmed. And your people are such docile creatures I hardly see the need to do anything with them. Why, they didn't need even the gentlest of cajoling to believe your mother's tragic death was an accident. They're far more of an asset to the Empire's cause than a detraction from it, even if the sylleblossom wreaths are rather uninspired.”

“Why would you offer me this?”

“Because I do hate to see potential wasted, and I suspect you handle a sword far better and with much greater enthusiasm than the various and sundry genitals of the troupes.” The chancellor rested his chin on his hand and stared at him, a sly grin arching up one side of his face. “Niflheim has no qualms about the mistreatment of a politically unimportant prisoner but it frowns most severely on those who mistreat its officers. What do you say, Lieutenant Ravus Nox Fleuret?”


End file.
